


A Rite of Silver

by Stark_Black



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Black/pseuds/Stark_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have come so far. Amon has become so strong, and the Lieutenant is proud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rite of Silver

**Author's Note:**

> For Ddreams. Thank you so much for your donation!

The Lieutenant’s steps were sure as he descended into the underground. He was tired and worn from the days’ rally and the inevitable retaliation, but those things were nothing now. They were behind him and all that mattered was returning to base, returning home to warmth and a certain comfort that only one person could give him.

“Lieutenant,” a voice called from the hall to his left, “welcome back!”

He offered a compulsory nod in the general direction of the speaker and continued down, past meeting rooms and sleeping quarters, a kitchen and small dining room. Equalists, brothers and sisters in the cause, greeted him silently as he moved with a purposeful yet unhurried gait. When he came to a door at the end of a long tunnel, he stopped. Soft light leaked from beneath the wooden frame. He knew then that his leader had already returned.

The latch was unlocked but the Lieutenant threw the bolt after he closed the door behind him. The room was empty, save for the cluttered desk and chair; a lantern; an empty teacup on a tray. The shelf in the far corner stood unassuming, filled with books and parchments, half-empty inkwells, and a dozen other things that did not matter and so were passed over. The Lieutenant moved close, running his fingers along the dry spines of books displaying characters he could only partially read. He hooked his index over the top of _Racial Phylogenetics_ , a name he still did not grasp entirely, but this also did not matter. He was a soldier, a loyal follower, a warrior for justice and equality. He was never going to be one for science or medicine. No, he was given duties, missions, and he carried them out with a cold and calculated efficiency matched by no one.

He pulled the book from its place on the shelf. A latch released. The shelf slid to the side revealing a dark tunnel.

There was no need for the lantern, he knew this tunnel like he knew his own body, but he smiled anyway at the thoughtful gesture. He had carved this place out of the earth himself, without bending, with only the strength of his hands and back. This tunnel, this hideaway was his creation, and only one other knew of its existence.

That one stood waiting for the Lieutenant when he emerged into a larger chamber. 

Another lantern sat on a long, wooden table, unlit. One chair sat solitary at the table’s head. The fireplace, carved into the cave wall glowed brightly, sending shadows dancing across the structure of rock and dirt. The large bed against the far wall had been made, the sheets crisp and tight.

Amon stood with his back facing the Lieutenant. He watched the fire as its light silhouetted his form. His hood, gauntlets, shin guards, and gloves were laid out on the table. He was clothed in only his tunic, trousers, and of course, his porcelain mask.

“Sir.” 

It was not a question, not even a greeting, only acknowledgement. In this room they sometimes had their titles, but never their rank. Here they were really and truly equal.

“Have you eaten?” Amon’s voice was quiet.

The Lieutenant moved forward to place his kali on the table, “No.”

“Do you wish to eat?”

“After.” 

Amon nodded and turned away from the fire. He took a few steps forward, his bearing calm, his stance relaxed. There was merely a foot between them, an easy distance to cross, but the Lieutenant did not. He was not in control, not yet.

“You did well today,” Amon said softly. 

“Thank you.”

Light eyes regarded the Lieutenant through small slits in porcelain. They blinked slowly, filled with what could have been any number of emotions, but the Lieutenant had watched those eyes for a long time. He could see the subtle changes. He could see the rage and the want—the _need_ —for a release, the agonizing desire for a very specific pain that was just barely being contained.

Raising his hands, Amon took another step forward. The Lieutenant gave a slight bow, a mere tilt of the head forward and Amon’s hands came up. He unclasped the chain from around the Lieutenant’s neck, and held the thin strand of silver between the two of them.

“Safe word,” the Lieutenant said.

“Iris.”

“Blood.”

“Yes.”

“Put it on.”

Amon did as he was told. The silver chain went around his neck.

“Undress.”

Tunic and boots were shed easily, followed by trousers and undergarments. When Amon stood naked, save for his mask, before him the Lieutenant gestured toward the center of the room.

“Go.”

Amon moved quietly towards the system of bars the Lieutenant had constructed. He stood beneath a metal hook, watching as his lover slowly removed his own mask, gloves, jacket, and belt. He placed them on the table before moving to the racks against the opposite wall. 

The Lieutenant kept himself detached as he selected from the assortment of instruments. There would be plenty of time for emotion later. Right now he needed to be calculated. Amon needed him to be cold and exacting. This was a delicate process, the most precarious of training. 

Leather cuffs fit snuggly around Amon’s wrists and the chain between them fit over the hook. The man’s body stretched tall and beautiful as his feet barely touched the floor. The Lieutenant took a moment to run his hand down the muscled torso, his fingers feeling out the subtle ridges of old scars. The topography of Amon’s flesh was exquisite, tantalizing underneath his touch.

Amon moaned.

Turning back to the rack, the Lieutenant selected a simple, leather quirt, a favorite for both of them. The piece was swift and solid, with a shocking effect; easy to clean, easy to replace. 

When he returned to Amon, the man was panting, breathing heavily into his shoulder. His body was rigid, ready. Perfect. The Lieutenant moved close letting his breath ghost across trembling shoulders.

“Five…” he whispered.

Amon moaned again.

Stepping back, the Lieutenant readied his hand, weighing the quirt in his hand and steadying his stance. The first blow to that already marred skin was quick, a snap against flesh and back again. Amon let out a gasp, more from surprise than pain. His hands twisted in the cuffs, his shoulders tensed.

The Lieutenant struck him again, and again. Three more times in succession, a steady beat of five or six seconds in between. They were quick, controlled strikes that created beautiful pink lines across ribs. Someday, he was going to ask Amon if he could do this with his kali sticks, but not now. Amon was not ready for that.

There was a soft cry as the Lieutenant placed the fifth strike. Moving close, he placed a hand on Amon’s waist, breathed softly into the man’s ear.

“Go for ten?”

“Yes.”

The Lieutenant continued, another five strikes, another beautiful moan. Amon’s body was shaking now, sweat glistened on his brow, slid down his back, his thighs. He was pulled taught, a rubber band ready to snap. 

He asked for five more and Amon agreed. Between twelve and fifteen was usually where the breaking began. Quiet sobs would join in the sound of leather against flesh in a perfect symphony of submission. This time, however, Amon held out. He was silent except for his heavy breaths against his shoulder. The Lieutenant felt his own arousal building, his cock was thick and hard, straining in its confinement. He was proud of Amon, he was doing so well. He had come a long way. 

Five more. Twenty. Small, pinpricks of blood blossomed along those perfect, pink lines and Amon finally started to whimper. He whispered unintelligible things through trembling lips and arched exquisitely with the last strike.

The Lieutenant felt a shiver trail down his spine as he watched. He came close and pressed his palm against the welts, smearing the blood onto his fingertips.

“You’re doing so good, my love,” he murmured, “so good.”

Amon let his head fall back. His mouth fell open and he keened at the cave roof. “I don’t… I don’t know… I can’t…”

The Lieutenant pressed closer, sliding his hand into dark hair. He breathed over the cool, white porcelain and lowered his voice. “You can’t what, my love? You can’t continue?”

Amon’s breath was harsh beneath his mask, “…I don’t know.” 

“I think you can do five more.”

Another moan, a sob.

“You can do it, love. I know you can.” The Lieutenant’s arm came around Amon’s waist as he spoke. He kissed the damp skin just behind the mask, the soft flesh just below the jawline. “You’ve been so strong, so unbelievable strong tonight. Come on, five more. You can do it.”

Amon didn’t answer for a few long seconds. He whimpered, tugged on the cuffs, and pulled his head back up to hang forward between his arms.

Finally, he whispered, “Yes. Five more… please.”

The Lieutenant’s heart sang. As he stepped back his body sung with a new energy, an electric pulse pumped through his body as he pulled back and struck Amon’s flesh. His loins tightened at the first scream, throbbed at the second. He was so proud, so fucking proud he could scream himself.

The fifth strike landed and the Lieutenant dropped the quirt. He lunged forward and grabbed the masked man’s wrists, pulling him up and off the hook. Amon shuddered violently as he fell into the Lieutenant’s welcoming arms. He curled up tight and sobbed as the Lieutenant lifted him and carried him to the bed.

“You did so well, you did so well, my love. You should be so proud.” The Lieutenant was surprised to find his own voice was trembling as he lay his lover on the sheets and unbuckled the leather cuffs. “I love you,” he kissed Amon softly, “You’re so strong,” kissed his forehead, his cheeks, “Love you so much…”

Hands found the Lieutenant’s shirt and pulled frantically, pulled him up on the bed and down next to a shaking, sobbing, broken body.

“Where… where are you?” Amon breathed. “Please… please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me… don’t…”

As his words started to run together, the Lieutenant laid his hands on Amon’s face, his shoulders, his neck and chest. He soothed with his hands, clamed with his voice and his kisses.

“Don’t worry, my love. I’m here, I know what you need. Be calm, love.”

He pushed Amon gently to his stomach. He pulled the shirt from his own body and unfastened his pants. With oil from a bottle on the bedside table, the Lieutenant stroked his cock slick and moved between Amon’s thighs. 

“Spread your legs,” he said gently.

He slid in easily, Amon’s body not the least bit resistant. There was a soft cry, but the Lieutenant wasn’t sure who had let it slip. He pressed in deeper, far enough for his stomach to rest on a scarred lower back. He pulled out, pushed in again, and again, listening for those sounds, the moans of pleasure he loved and lived for.

“Ah… yes…” Amon breathed beneath him. 

The Lieutenant found a rhythm, pulling out slow and pushing back in hard. Amon cried out again and suddenly the rest of the world was hazy, far away. The only thing tangible was the body beneath him and the sheets. Everything else was lost to sensation. 

Dropping his head, the Lieutenant growled into Amon’s neck. “It feels good?”

“Yes,” Amon arched up into him.

“Can you come?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Pulling back the Lieutenant gripped a strong, muscled thigh. “Lift your hips then, get your cock in your hand.”

Masked face pressed into the sheets, Amon lifted his hips, arching his bloody back obscenely. The angle let the Lieutenant deeper and he moaned as his cock slid even further into soft heat. He felt tension coiling in his loins, but he wasn’t worried, Amon was already coming beneath him. His cries were muffled, but they were beautiful, free.

Hands grabbed slender hips and the Lieutenant rode hard, his thighs slapping against Amon’s over and over. Tension mounted, pulled so tight there was nothing to feel but Amon around him. Nothing to see but white light and stars. The Lieutenant cursed, letting his head fall back as everything came apart. Orgasm ripped through him like fire, like lightening, pulsing through his entire body and pumping through his veins as he emptied himself in a few long, hard thrusts.

He came back down quickly, sliding out and carefully repositioning Amon’s trembling body. His leader’s skin was slick with sweat, his stomach and thighs dotted with cum. He lay still, breathing hard, seemingly satisfied. 

A cool wet cloth soothed the burning of the welts, and salve protected the wounds and stopped the bleeding. Strong fingers kneaded into muscles that were finally relaxed, finally reachable as the day’s tension—the week’s tension—slowly faded away underneath skilled hands. The Lieutenant spent what could have been an hour, possibly more, tending to Amon’s body and was ready to spend the rest of the night on anything else, anything his lover needed. He would do anything, be anyone, for this man. The Lieutenant had resigned his love, his loyalty, and his life completely over without question or regret. 

After a while of comfortable silence, Amon shifted against the pillows. He whispered softly, “Thank you.”

The Lieutenant’s touch threaded gently through his lover’s hair. He said nothing. He watched the rise and fall of that muscled chest, kissed a strong shoulder, laced his grip through long, slender fingers. 

He may have had the power every time that small strand of silver went around Amon’s neck, but the Lieutenant knew, they both knew, who had truly submitted. 

END


End file.
